Remembrance
by Elraralia
Summary: [ONE-SHOT] For the first time, Guinevere doubts herself.


_After listening to the King Arthur soundtrack, I was inspired to write this. After watching the movie I was always wondering if Guinevere felt anything for Lancelot. Being a Lancelot/Ioan Gruffudd fan I sure do! So I thought I'd just write something for my own pleasure, and hope that other people will like it too!_

_This is written from the point of view of Guinevere, after everything has happened._

**_Disclaimer : I don't own anything that has to do with King Arthur, but if you want to send me Lancelot as a Christmas present, feel free!_**

* * *

**Remembrance**

* * *

I awoke to the pale moonlight streaming in from the open window. I felt Arthur's arm twined around my waist as he slept, and a smile lit my face for a moment. Gently, careful not to wake him, I slid out of his arms and pulled a thick cloak over my white nightdress. With one tender look at his strong face, I left the room.

The moonlight wove its magic in everything, making everything seem to come alive in the cool, eerie glow. I walked along the wall, looking out over the land where that great battle for our freedom had been fought not so long ago. It was strange to imagine that it was over now, that everything was past. It felt almost wrong to be living and breathing, when so many had perished on that field.

Used to a life where it was necessary to fight for freedom and survival, death had never hit me so strongly before. I supposed it was due to the fact that before this, I had never witnessed the loss of someone dear to me. Now that I had, the memory clung to me, shadowed me wherever I went. Even in the chilly night I could still see his face in my mind and hear his voice in the whispering wind. It was as if his spirit was still here, following me about wherever I went. I closed my eyes, letting his name escape from my lips to join his soul on the wind.

"Lancelot."

The name echoed in my mind, lingering on and on. I had always thought our conversations harmless flirtations, something that he did out of habit, something that fit his womanising, cheeky ways. I had thought his smile, the one that weakened the knees of many a maiden, something he flashed to every woman who crossed his path. I had thought the intensity that I saw hidden behind his eyes had simply come from his years of fighting. It was not until that fateful day, when he rushed to my defence, that I had really realised how much he had cared.

He could have had any woman he wanted, but he only wanted the one he could not have. Yet, he had suffered in silence, making no effort to take me away from Arthur, in the end sacrificing his life for us. I wondered, if he had confronted me, would I have succumbed to his charms, his sincerity? Would I have chosen him over Arthur? Did I only choose Arthur because he suited my purpose? There was no answer, and I was left with an uneasy silence in my doubtful heart.

A tear found its way out of my eye, sliding down my cheek and falling onto the cold stone of the wall.

"What's past is past."

I whirled round to face my father. My hand automatically flew to my face to wipe away my tears, but he stopped me. "Since you were a child, I had taught you never to give way to your tears," he said gently. "Perhaps this time we could make an exception."

I nodded, lowering my hand and turning away, letting the tears fall freely onto the wall. The cold stones… cold and dead. "Father, I've always been so sure, so sure of my decisions. But this time…"

No more words were needed for my father to understand. "He loved you, and perhaps you did too, but what's past is past, and now your future lies with Arthur. Together you can give freedom to our people."

I nodded. My father was right. With Arthur, we could all live free, no longer struggling against any foreigners, finally coming into what was rightfully ours. But if I had mistaken my heart, if I could not give Arthur everything he yearned and deserved, would it be worth the while…? For the first time in my life I was undecided.

My father took my hand once more, stroking it like he had done when I was a little girl. "I know your doubts, Guinevere, and now I tell you that you made no mistake. Trust me, I know you best. Doubts will attack from time to time, but in the end you will see that you made no mistake. Love the memory of Lancelot, if you wish, but cherish the freedom, the happiness and the love that his death bought for both you and Arthur." He smiled. "You will live long, my daughter, and with no regrets." With those words, he released my hand, and walked away with me, without looking back. My father never looked back.

I made my way slowly back to my room. Slipping back into bed next to my husband, I closed my eyes.

"Are you all right?" Arthur's voice was soft, loving. My heart jumped, and I opened my eyes to see his face, smiling.

"Yes, I am. I just wanted to walk in the moonlight."

He touched my face tenderly. "I miss him too."

How could he know my thoughts? "Who?"

His fingers traced patterns on my face. "Lancelot. I don't grudge you for loving him, Guinevere. There was nothing in him that a person could not love."

With Arthur's face bathed in moonlight, my questions surfaced again, but this time I found that I had the answers. My lips brushed his eyelids. "I will always love his memory, but first and foremost, I love you."


End file.
